“Oh, is it half past burrito o’clock?” I call after him. And then louder, I yell, “You’re so predictable!” It’s like the guy will turn into a freaking pumpkin if he’s a minute late. I make a point to give him a hard time about this. He certainly deserves nothing less.
Thad’s never late. Well, rarely. Three times max, and that includes today. Not bad for almost four months of such a tight curfew. Curfew seems like such a strange word for it. Like some minor nuisance that everyone his age has to cope with. No, cutoff is more like it.
As he gets closer to home, he has his usual panic. Will the cops be there? Did he just spend his last few minutes of freedom with Mabry Collins? Seriously?
But by the time he skates up to the town house, the only alarming thing he sees is Aunt Nora, standing at the window, surveying the street, like she’s looking for him. He’s not sure who he’s most annoyed with—himself, for disappointing her, or everyone else, for expecting so much out of him.
He opens the door and goes in, and Aunt Nora stands by the sink now, wiping down the already clean counters.
“Sorry I’m late,” he murmurs to her.
She looks over at him and softens. “It’s okay, hon. I was just getting worried.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry,” he says again.
She walks by and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s fine. Now, I have to run, and your mom’s taking a nap. But wake her up in about fifteen minutes—she didn’t want to sleep too long. She’s just tired today. I think physical therapy wore her out.”
“Okay.”
“She had a little soup and rice—about a half cup of rice.” Nora brightens.
“That’s good.”
“It is. You hungry?”
“I’ll make something.”
“Well, the soup might still be warm,” Aunt Nora says.
Thad watches as she goes over to the stove and lifts the lid. He sees that the soup is green. Split pea. Heave. And it’s starting to turn solid. Retch.
She sighs and turns the burner back on. “Sorry, it just needs a minute.”
He’ll turn it off and put it away the second his aunt leaves, but he doesn’t want to tell her that. She seems to think pea soup is a perfectly normal food, and nothing at all like demon vomit.
“All right, Mister Man, I’m off to work.” She smiles at him.
Sometimes when she smiles like that, he wants to hug her, but he’d never admit it. Aunt Nora looks like the word warm sounds. No sharp edges. He just says, “Okay, thanks.”
At the door, she puts on a sweater and wraps a scarf around her neck. It’s lopsided, which makes him feel kind of huggy again.
Jeez! he reminds himself. Stop!
She points to his mom’s room. “Ten minutes, don’t forget to wake her up.”
“I won’t.”
And he doesn’t forget. He doesn’t have a chance to forget. Because in five minutes, when the pea soup burns at the bottom of the pot and he’s on his second peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, the smoke alarm goes off.
He calmly resets the alarm with the end of the wooden spoon—it’s happened before—and douses the soup pan with cold water in the sink. He won’t need to wake his mother now—she’ll be up like the rest of the block. All the neighbors are probably rolling their eyes. Thad’s cooking again, they’re probably saying.
The doorbell rings.
Thad groans. Must be the lady next door making sure he’s not about to burn down the entire row of houses.
He storms to the door and whips it open, saying, “Everything’s fine.” But the last syllable gets caught in his windpipe because suddenly everything’s not.
He is staring into the chest of Officer Dirk.
“THADDEUS.”
Thad steps back. “Uh, hi.”
“IS NORA HERE.”
“No,” he says, scanning the parking area in front of the houses. At least there are no flashing blue lights out there. No handcuffs in sight. “She just left for work.”
He’s holding a manila file in his hand. “I HAVE SOME PAPERS FOR HER.”
Papers? Is a warrant considered a paper? His foot feels like jiggling, but he’s standing on it.
“I can—take them for her?”
“I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU, TOO.”
His mind starts going in eight different directions. How much trouble could he actually be in? If a public school is government property, has he committed some sort of crime against the government? Could he be an enemy of the state? He had posted a question anonymously on a message board, asking the world what happens when you punch out a window at school. He got lots of different answers, but the one that sticks out in his head is the one posted from someone in prison: A good friend will tell you to tell the truth, but a great friend will stand next to you while you lie. But what if you have no friends at all—good, great, or otherwise—except for some crazy girl? What then?
He realizes that Officer Dirk is just standing there outside the doorway and he doesn’t seem to want to go away. And he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be rude to someone like him—after all, his fate might be in this man’s gigantic hands.
“Do you”—please say no, please say no, please say no—“want to come in?”
“WOULD BE GREAT.”
Thad steps aside and Officer Dirk wipes his feet off carefully on the doormat, then steps inside and heads right to the kitchen.
What now?
“Do you, uh, want a Yoo-hoo?” Thad asks.
“NO.”
“Or some water?”
“NO THANKS.”
Thad hopes he doesn’t have to offer him herbal tea, like the kind he drank with Aunt Nora. He doesn’t want to stand around avoiding eye contact while waiting for the water to boil, for the tea to steep in the mug.
“Thad?” He hears his mom calling. Her voice is so quiet that he’s pretty sure Officer Dirk hasn’t heard it.
“Be right there,” he calls back. He looks at Officer Dirk, accepting just a fleeting moment of interrogative eye contact, and says, “That was my mom. She’s calling me.”
Dirk nods, even though Thad worries Dirk thinks he’s mak-ing it up.
He goes to the back of the house and peeks into the door. “Mom?”
“Hi, sweetheart. Is everything okay?” she asks. “It sounds like there’s a lot going on out there.”
Yeah, no doubt. The smoke alarm. The doorbell. And she can’t even hear his own personal security system screaming that something’s not right. “Everything’s fine. I just burned some soup and someone came to the door.”
“Oh. A neighbor?” she asks.
He opens his mouth to tell her the truth but then just nods his head. “Yeah, but no worries.”
No worries. Yeah. Right.
“Okay, sweetie,” she says.
He pulls the door closed again and walks back into the kitchen. Officer Dirk has his arms crossed over his chest. He’s leaning on the counter, with that same heavy expression on his face as always. The manila file lies on the counter next to him. Thad never knew that a file folder could appear so menacing.
“YOUR MOTHER.”
Thad waits for him to continue, but then realizes it’s another odd Dirk-like statement-question, which translates loosely into Was that your mom?
“Yeah, she’s—”
“NORA TOLD ME.”
Dirk leans forward and places his heavy, monstrous hand on Thad’s shoulder, which makes Thad suck in air and hold it in his lungs.
Finally, Officer Dirk removes his hand and picks up the folder.
“I’LL LEAVE THIS HERE FOR YOUR AUNT.”
Thad nods.
“BUT THERE’S AN ENVELOPE IN THERE FOR YOU.”
“Okay.”
“IT MIGHT…” Officer Dirk shakes his head. “WELL, I HOPE IT WON’T BE TOO UPSETTING.”
Oh. Okay. There it is. Thaddeus Bell, please report to juvenile hall at eight a.m. tomorrow. It could be that. Or maybe not. He’s not sure of much at this point. Except
for the fact that he’s not in the market for anything upsetting.
Officer Dirk stands up straight. For a second, it looks like he’ll go for another one of those sudden-attack hugs, but this time he just nods. “GIVE NORA MY REGARDS.”
Sure, Thad thinks, whatever regards really are.
He walks Officer Dirk to the door and locks it behind him. Back in the kitchen, he glances at the folder. Whatever’s in there, it can’t be good. He puts it with a stack of papers on a shelf behind the table. Not exactly lost, but hopefully never found.
yo enciendo
tú enciendes
ella enciende
nosotros encendemos
ellos encienden
It’s Monday, and I’m at the lunch table waiting for Sirina, who’s in the toxic-food line. Jordan’s blabbering on about The Biggest Loser, and although I couldn’t care less about what she’s saying, I turn to her and try to pretend I give a hoot, like Amelia apparently does. But I guess I fail at it, because Jordan finally comments on the fact that my eyes are visibly glazing over.
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “I just don’t watch that show.”
“Yeah, now you know how I feel when you start talking about your telenovelas,” she says.
I guess I do, then. “Sorry,” I say. I stare at my chicken Caesar salad until Sirina sits down. She’s got a Chipwich, a bag of Bugles, a roll of Donettes, and a Slim Jim.
“Holy cow,” I say.
“Yeah, rough day. The worst,” she says. “I tried to talk to Officer Dirk, but he just brushed me off again. And so I went to see Mrs. Neidelman, to tell her I’m getting nowhere with him. She just shrugged it off, and said maybe I wasn’t catching him at the ‘right time.’ Like, when is the ‘right time’? Never?”
“Did you tell her we wanted to enter it for the YoJo?” I ask.
“Yeah, and she was like, ‘Oh, yes! The YoJo! Speaking of, the Spiritleaders are performing at the Goat Festival in Wheatland this Wednesday!’ Like she thought that was YoJo-worthy.” Sirina throws her hands up. “Clearly the woman has no real journalistic background.”
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“I have no clue, but we have to think of something. I mean, if this case is stalled, then so are we.” She sighs, and then adds, “I know I’ve been down on Nick, but so far, he’s the only source we’ve got.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I say, and smile weakly.
She gives me a tired smile back, then starts in on her Chipwich. Jordan and Amelia pull her into their Loser discussion by telling her that her lunch choices would be grounds for dismissal on the show.
And I look up from my romaine, and when I do, I see Nick staring at me. He looks away when our eyes meet, then back to me again. For one second, then two, then three. Three full seconds! And I’m pretty sure it’s not just a look. It’s like the look Hermana Ampuero gave the doctor she used to work with when he came to find her in Suelo. It’s a Meaningful Gaze.
I try to explain this gaze to Thad at the mall later, but (no surprise) he doesn’t get it. He keeps pretending he’s trying to understand, but all he’s really doing is using it as an excuse to make really stupid faces at me.
“Is this a Meaningful Gaze?” he asks. We’re sitting on a bench, and he twists sideways, lowers his eyebrows, and looks over his shoulder at me.
“No,” I tell him.
“How about this?” He turns back around and lets his head drop to the side. He opens his eyes as wide as they can go, and lets his tongue dangle sideways.
I swat at him.
“Oh!” He jumps up. “I know. How about this?” He puts one foot on the bench, then puts his elbow on his knee. He raises his hand and rests his chin lightly on his gloved knuckles, gazing like a presidential candidate into the distance. Wistfully.
“You’re not even looking at me. Just stop,” I say.
“I’m just trying to understand,” he says, smirking.
“No you’re not. Anyway, you’re starting to look like an idiot.”
“Just starting? I can do better,” he says.
“Sit. Down.” I say. “I didn’t come here just so you could make fun of me.”
“Oh, you didn’t?”
“Oh, Thad, you’re so, so funny,” I say in a mocking high-pitched voice.
He laughs, but then sniffs some air through his nose and scratches his ear in a way that makes me think he’s a little embarrassed. I kind of want to enjoy his embarrassment and maybe even start making fun of him, but whenever I think about his dad being dead, I feel like I should be nicer to him.
“Okay, sometimes you are funny,” I tell him.
He looks at me suspiciously. “You know what I don’t get?”
“Yeah. A lot of things,” I say.
He just shakes his head. “No. I don’t get why we’re even having this conversation. You were supposed to be making him jealous. And now, what are you telling me? That you failed again?”
“Or that I succeeded. In flirting,” I say, a little smugly.
“You weren’t supposed to be flirting with him, Collins. Not yet.”
I throw my hands up. “Isn’t the important thing for this plan to work that I get him to like me again?”
He shrugs and looks away. “I think the more important thing right now is that you stop liking him so much.”
For a second, I’m panicked. Does Thad know? He better not! So I pretend-knock on the back of his head. “Hey, nut case. Who said anything about liking him? Now who’s getting sentimental? Don’t you remember I’m supposed to snare him? And break his heart?”
He turns back to me and narrows his eyes. “Quick. Tell me three things you don’t like about him.”
“What? Why?”
“For your own protection,” he says. “This is your next assignment. It’s easy not to crush on someone when you can focus on their flaws. So, now—quick. Give me three things you don’t like about him.”
“Three?” It seems like an impossible task, but just to cover for myself, I laugh-snort and say, “I could give you twenty if I wanted to.”
“I’ll settle for three,” he says.
“All right, okay.” I do the snorty laugh again. “Fine, I’ll tell you.”
“So you said.”
“Well, okay, here you go. I don’t like his mother, for one,” I say.
I mean, what kind of mother-in-law would she be? Constantly hovering. Minding everyone’s business. I could live without that.
“That’s more about her than him.”
“Okay, fine. I don’t really like his haircut,” I say.
“He’s a Bieberhead, right? You agree?”
“Hardly ever. But fine, I’ll give you that.”
“Come on. Say it,” Thad says, cupping his hand behind his ear. “I want to hear it.”
I lower my gaze at him.
“Saaay it.”
I exhale. “Fine.” Through tight lips, I say, “Bieberhead.”
“What? Who?”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Nick Wainwright is a Bieberhead,” I finally say, just to shut him up.
Thad throws his fists up in victory. I roll my eyes.
“Okay, what else?” he says. He is enjoying this way too much.
Gah. What don’t I like about Nick? I’ve spent so much time thinking about what I like—no, love—about him, it’s hard to say. Then something pops in my head. His ears. His tiny ears. It’s like they’re stuck in fourth grade and haven’t caught up with the rest of him. “His ears are small.”
He laughs. Or channels a coyote. It sounds about the same. “Good. Baby ears. Keep going. More flaws, please.”
“You said three things,” I remind him.
“Yeah, and you said you could give me twenty.”
“I don’t feel like it.”
Thad exhales through his mouth and sweeps his hand through his hair. “Well, there’s a lot I don’t like about him. A lot,” he says, look-ing at me.
“Have you even seen him since el
ementary school? You hardly know him anymore!”
“And you know what?” he says. He seems a little upset. “You hardly do, either.”
I should argue with him—after all, Nick was my boyfriend for six weeks! But I also kind of don’t like seeing Thad upset, not in this way. So I say, “I did see him pick his nose once.”
This seems to satisfy Thad a little. His mouth almost stretches into a smile, and his eyes seem wider, quicker. “So he does still do that.”
“Well, I just saw it once,” I say. “He didn’t know I was watching.”
“Still counts. Okay, that’s a good one. A public picker,” Thad says. He turns to me and squints his eyes a little. “Hey, speaking of flaws, did you know that one of your ears is a little higher than the other?”
Great, I think. Welcome, new insecurity! You will be in good company! There are lots of experienced insecurities that have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Have you met Unibrow? Or Man Knuckle? Or Toe Hair? And, yeah, how about the Double-A Twins—oh, you can’t see them? Don’t worry, no one else can, either!
“Well, you’re like Edward Scissorhands, wearing those stupid gloves around all the time.”
“Awesome.” He scissors his hands toward my head, making some sort of monster-y hissing sound.
“It’s not,” I say, scooting away. “It’s creepy.”
When he finally stops and looks away, I put my hands over my ears. Does one feel higher than the other? Is it the left one or the right one? Or maybe it’s the earlobes! I feel them. Oh my god, one is bigger than the other. And here I’ve completely decorated them with earrings, drawing even more attention to this horrible flaw!
Nick turns to see me grasping my ears. “I was totally kidding,” he tells me.
“You were?”
“Jeez, Collins,” he says, flopping his head to one side. He blows out a sigh and adds, “Well, me and my creepy scissor hands better head out. See you next time.”
“Why don’t we meet somewhere else? Don’t you get tired of the mall?”
“Nope,” he says, and skates off. Whatever. I watch him go. He’s getting pretty good. Not that I would ever tell him that.
And then I think of another Nick flaw. I bet Nick can’t skate like Thad. But that will have to be one to keep to myself. It’s hardly a real flaw anyway. I mean, I still haven’t learned how to salsa dance, and I sure hope no one’s holding that against me.
How to Break a Heart Page 12
